by A. Zavarelli
“You have baked before?” she asks.
I spread jam into the pastry shell. “Yes. I cooked often at home for my father.”
She nods. We are silent again while I dump the fruit into the prepared tart and sprinkle it with icing sugar. Only when I present the finished product does she give me a hint of a smile.
“Very good. Nika will enjoy. Figs are his favorite.”
I smile too, but it’s weak. I doubt Nikolai will care what I’ve made after what happened this afternoon.
“Do you need my help with anything else?”
“No, that is all,” she says. “Perhaps go upstairs and rest now.”
I thank her and leave the kitchen. But upon entering the main room, I stop short. There is a woman at the front door. She is tall, blonde, and beautiful with legs for days and confidence I could only dream of possessing. Nikolai comes to greet her in the entryway, and she kisses him. She kisses the man who had his hands all over my body, and it feels as though someone’s just anchored a cement block around my chest.
I’m immobile. Background noise. They don’t see me as they shuffle up the stairs, but even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. I pushed him away, and now he’s giving me my just desserts. A Vor at heart, he is determined to give the final blow. His message has been received, loud and agonizingly clear.
I am not special.
I am replaceable.
The fool in me wants to believe it isn’t true. He wouldn’t do that. Not when he had his hands on my body today. Not when he whispered his confessions in my ear.
He wanted me.
Not her.
My body jerks up the stairs like a zombie. The third door on the right is my room. I should go inside and close the door and put on my headphones and think about when I get back onstage again. Only, my feet keep moving of their own accord, down the hall to his office. Cold fingers rest on the door handle, and I choke down the sour taste in my mouth.
I have no right to open this door. I have no right to care what he’s doing, and I shouldn’t want to see. Nikolai is nothing to me, and I am nothing to him. But he changed that when he touched me, and he should never have touched me at all. Because I’m turning the knob and I’m holding my breath and I don’t want to see, but my brain demands the visual for what I can already hear.
The door swings open, and it’s not better or worse than I imagined. It just is. A brutal punch to the chest would be more favorable than witnessing him this way. Legs spread wide, his dick is in her mouth while his eyes find mine.
She gets his pleasure, and I get the pain.
I was wrong to think I could protect myself from him. He doesn’t need to take my body to ruin me.
Because he just did.
When I arrive back from the city, I’m greeted by the smell of roast and vegetables, a reminder that soon my brother will be joining us for dinner. This meeting is important, but I find myself regretting that I made it for this evening. I’m still hungover from last night’s activities, and entertaining is the last thing on my mind.
Nonna catches me in the entryway, gesturing for my coat and hat.
“Is Nakya ready?” I ask.
She nods. “I helped her dress earlier, now she is resting.”
“Thank you.” I move for the stairs. A hot shower is in order, and perhaps a small hair of the dog. But Nonna isn’t prepared to let me have either.
“The doctor wanted me to pass along a message.”
I pause. “What is the message?”
“The girl had a setback today. She refused to take her breakfast, vomited what she ate at lunch, and would not speak at all during her therapy session.”
Each statement is a blade to my gut, but Nonna doesn’t seem to notice as she delivers her words with deliberate efficiency. She goes on to tell me that Tanaka did not go to the gym today either, which she found rather odd.
“I will address it.”
Nonna nods and leaves the room, and I take the stairs. She told me Nakya was sleeping, and I’m tempted to see for myself. But my palm hesitates on the door while I listen for a sound inside. There isn’t one, and like a coward, I’m satisfied enough to open the door.
I find the broken angel lying in the center of her oversized bed. She is curled into herself, hands tucked against her chest, and even in sleep, she appears tormented. I should leave her alone—it’s for the best—but I can’t bring myself to shut the door. Not when I notice the goose bumps on her exposed arms. According to her doctor, it’s a symptom of her condition. She is always cold because she does not have enough body fat.
Retrieving the throw blanket from the end of the bed, I am careful to drape it over her without waking her. And then I am careful to watch her for no good reason, regretting every decision I’ve ever made.
It would be foolish of me to wonder if my actions had any effect on her. I wouldn’t say it’s the first time I’ve hurt a woman’s feelings, but it’s the first time I’ve had to see their face again. This is unchartered territory. Nakya is stuck here with me, and I knew that she would see. I wanted her to see. I wanted her to hear.
Petty, perhaps, but after her cold dismissal in my bedroom, I wanted to be petty. From the beginning, she has been open with her feelings about me. She believes me to be filthy. She believes I am not worthy of someone like her.
Who could ever want you?
Maybe she is right. But it didn’t stop me from wanting her when she came to me, wearing the clothes that I bought her. Floating like an angel, only to sting like a bee when her senses caught up with her.
Since her arrival, I have struggled to maintain my distance. Women are a valuable commodity in my world, and I rarely make an effort to get what I want from them. It takes little more than a look. A touch. A smile. It has always been easy for me, and it would be falsely humble to say otherwise.
But it hasn’t been common practice for me to bring my conquests here. That is something new. Something I started for the sake of my own amusement. I like to watch Tanaka squirm. I like to get my dick sucked knowing she’s just down the hall, hearing every second of it.
At times, I have caught myself wondering if she spares a second thought about my activities. If she wishes even for a second that she were the girl on her knees, taking what I offer her. I have imagined it more than I should. The thoughts ravage me even while I resort to choking my dick with my own fist like I’m a teenager again.
She didn’t pull away from me last night. Not at first. I felt the fire in her skin. The strain of her nipples against my fingers. The soaked pussy between her thighs when I rubbed her virgin panties. For a fleeting moment, she wanted me too. And now, she will only ever see me as filthy again.
Her dark lashes flutter open, and I’m caught staring. The warmth in her honey eyes fractures, and she visibly recoils at the narrow distance between us. She can hardly look at me, and I don’t blame her.
“Have I overslept?” Her voice is dead, her beautiful face plagued with sorrow.
“No. We still have an hour.”
She is quiet, and I am too. I have no explanation for my being here. I only know that I need to leave before I get any closer. She doesn’t need to smell the alcohol or perfume on my clothes.
She doesn’t need another reason to hate me.
“If you come to my office now, you can make your phone call.”
She sits up in bed.
And just like that, everything else is forgotten.
Nikolai lumbers down the hallway, leaving a faint wake of smoke and perfume in his path. His shirt is wrinkled, and his eyes are bloodshot, and I don’t want to consider what’s kept him occupied in his absence, but I can’t seem to stop anyway.
He gestures me into his office and points at the chair opposite his desk. I do as I’m prompted and sit down while he slides a landline across the deep expanse of cherry stained wood.
“Five minutes,” he tells me. “Then Nonna will come for you.”
An unnatural stillness settles over me when
Alone.
My fingers tremble when I pick up the handset. He wants me to dial the numbers before he goes. The numbers for the director of my company, who I told him I wanted to call. Maybe he knows the number, or maybe he doesn’t.
It’s a chance I’m willing to take.
I dial the number with false confidence. Outwardly, I know I’m holding it together. But inwardly, my heart is in my throat.
He can’t know.
He can’t.
I have to pull this off.
“Hello?” Gianni answers.
“Hello, Jean Claude. It’s Tanaka.”
A beat of silence follows, and I know it’s up to me to steer the conversation. Even when Nikolai leaves, my responses will likely be recorded on camera for later dissection. We must tread carefully.
“I was just calling to check in,” I say lightly. “If you have time, I’d like to fill you in on my rehabilitation.”
“I see,” Gianni answers.
From the doorway, Nikolai’s eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I think he knows. He knows, and he’s going to slaughter me right here in his office. But instead, he taps his watch and issues a final reminder.
“Five minutes.”
And then he is gone, taking my breath with him.
“Are you recovering well then?” Gianni asks from the other line.
What he’s really asking is if I’m all right.
“I’m fully focused on my health,” I answer. “And hoping to return to the company very soon, should there still be a spot for me.”
Gianni is quiet for too long, and I don’t like the sound of that silence. He knows what I’m asking. Has my position been held for me? Has he spoken with the director? What can he tell me?
“At this time, we believe it would be best for you to focus on your recovery. We can discuss your position with the company when you are ready to dance again.”
I swallow, and it hurts. Everything hurts. I don’t want to accept what he’s telling me. Even though I knew it would come to this, I don’t want to believe it.
“The company sends their love,” Gianni adds. “They all wish you a full recovery.”
I think he’s trying to tell me that he wants to help me, but his hands are tied. I can’t be certain, but it must be what he came to warn me about that night. He knew Nikolai was coming for me. He knew my life was about to be obliterated.
“Have you had any luck on the investigation into my shoes?” I ask.
“Very little,” he replies. “But there is a rumor it was an outside job. Someone by the name of il demone.”
My stomach twists. He must be confused. Or I am. Something is getting lost in translation.
“I don’t know who that is,” I answer. And I wish it were true. I wish I didn’t know that il demone is the name my father is known as on the streets.
“Where are you staying during your recovery?” Gianni asks.
It’s a bold question. And I can only hope my answer doesn’t get me killed.
“I’m at home. In Massachusetts.”
He needs to know I’m still in the same state, so he can come for me. So he can take me away from this place and Nikolai.
“I hope to pay you a visit soon,” he says.
Nonna enters the room, and I close my eyes. “I hope so too. Speak to you soon, Jean Claude.”
“Soon,” he echoes.
Shortly after the arrival of the guest downstairs, Nikolai comes to collect me from my room. Clean from a long shower, his hair is still damp, and he smells like himself again. Cloves and smoke, and maybe a bit of spicy aftershave. He made an effort to look presentable, but his face still looks like he spent a night in hell. In black trousers and a starched white button-down, he seems torn between light and darkness. Sinner or saint, it’s hard to tell from one minute to the next.
His eyes make a quick pass over the red dress hugging my figure. “Nonna dressed you well.”
It’s the same dress I was wearing earlier, but either he failed to notice or he’s providing obligatory compliments in hopes I will behave this evening. I’m not certain who he’s expecting for dinner, but it seems strange he’d want to include me. For all Nikolai knows, I could spoil everything. But I suppose he’s counting on me to be the well-heeled girl trained to be respectful of men and their business.
“Our guest is waiting.” He gestures for me to come closer, and I do, but not close enough for him to touch.
After last night, I want nothing more to do with him. I want only his suffering, and I have secretly vowed that I will do everything in my power to ensure it, though I don’t know how yet. I only know that I was a fool to be swayed by him for even a minute.
He is a thief. A liar. And I will never forget that image of him again.
We walk side by side, greeted at the bottom of the stairs by Nonna, who readily provides us each with a drink. Vodka cranberry for me, and a whiskey for Nikolai.
“He is in the main room,” she announces.
Nikolai nods and downs the amber liquid in his glass with one long swallow. Nonna leaves with the promise to return with another, and then we are off again. He guides me into the main room where our guest is waiting. And once I set eyes on him, I recognize him.
Alexei.
Like Nikolai, he has an overbearing presence. Tall, lean, and muscular with ice blue eyes. He rises to greet me, and his eyes never leave my face as I say a quiet hello.
“Nakya, you remember Lyoshka.”
I nod.
“Thank you for coming,” Nikolai tells him.
“I can’t stay long.”
Both men are rigid with equally cool features. The civility between them is forced, though I don’t know why. But when Nonna directs us to the dining table, Nikolai offers the head seat to his guest of honor.
Perhaps he is trying to win him over, but more than likely, it’s a matter of respect. There is always a pecking order in the mafia, and in this particular scenario, it would appear Alexei outranks Nikolai.
We take our seats, and for some length of time, they discuss business in Russian while I poke at the first course. Under any other circumstances, I’d love minestrone, but I find it an odd choice to be served this evening. I’m not hungry anyway, and my thoughts are far away when Nikolai barks my name. I look up from my plate.
“Eat,” he demands.
I make a point to disregard him, informing Nonna that I’m finished when she comes for the dishes. She frowns but removes the bowl regardless.
The conversation continues across the table, but it seems to be increasingly one-sided. When I look up from my salad, I find it’s because Alexei’s attention has diverted to me. He seems unaware that Nikolai is still speaking when he interrupts.
“Who are you?”
I have no reason to be rude to him. There is, in truth, a small part of me that basks in the power he holds over my captor. Nikolai is watching our exchange closely, his eyes challenging me to speak out of turn.
“My name is Tanaka Valentini.” I offer Alexei a warm smile. “I’m here as collateral for a debt my father owes.”
If Alexei reacts to my honesty, I don’t see it. My eyes are locked on Nikolai, taking a small victory in the way his fingers stiffen around his glass as he brings it to his lips.
I turn my attention back to Alexei. “And may I ask who you are?”
“I am of little importance,” he answers. “In fact, it puzzles me exceedingly what honor has bestowed a bastard like me the presence of your captor this evening.”
Nikolai’s eyes flash. “I do not trouble myself with the relations you speak of. It seems you have mistaken me for Sergei.”
Alexei shrugs. “It is hard, sometimes, to tell the difference between you two.”
A crimson flush edges up the pulsing ridge of Nikolai’s throat, and my stomach flips in response. I know I probably pushed him too far, but Alexei is unconcerned about his role, even when Nikolai excuses himself from the room.
When he’s gone, and the room is silent, I blurt something that would be better kept to myself. “Are you really his brother?”
Alexei pierces me with his eyes. “How did you know?”
My eyes wander over his features, and while it isn’t blatant, there are some similarities. It’s mostly their mannerisms, though, that I have seemed to connect. “You look alike. And you also hinted at it. Bastard. Relations. I think the only missing ingredient is brotherly affection.”
His eyes study me curiously while he sips from his cognac. “It’s hard to warm to a man like Nikolai.”
I think maybe he’s trying to tell me that Nikolai is not a good man. He doesn’t need to say so. My heart still hurts from the memory of last night.
“Does he treat you well?” Alexei asks.
I find myself nodding on autopilot, though I’m not sure why. It’s probably not wise to say anything else. Their hatred runs deep, but guaranteed, their loyalty runs deeper. It’s the mafia way.
“Why did you come to dinner tonight?” I ask. “If you don’t get along with him?”
Alexei responds with a flippant gesture of his hand. “I’m not sure. We still have business to discuss.”
Nonna returns with another course of roast and vegetables. While Nikolai is absent, I decide to eat a little because it smells good.
“If you stay here long, perhaps you can come visit my wife sometime,” Alexei suggests. “She could use a friend.”
My fork halts, and I look up at him.
A friend.
I’ve never had a friend. I wouldn’t even know what that relationship entails, but the opportunity sounds too good to pass up.
“I would like that very much,” I answer. “What is her name?”
For the first time since his arrival, there is a sign of life in Alexei’s eyes. “Her name is Talia.”
“Talia,” I repeat. “It’s a beautiful name.”
“She’s a beautiful woman.” He smiles. “But she is not yet familiar with this world, and I fear that it makes her an easy target.”
I nod in understanding. Growing up in this life, I’m intimately acquainted with the baggage that comes with it. But for an outsider, it can be disorienting, I’m sure.
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